Backdraft
by Midnight Lion
Summary: Just as something as innocent as oxygen can be responsible for a dangerous explosion, so can someone as innocent as Traynor be the catalyst for a great deal of pain. Because saving the galaxy is more important than happiness, it would seem. Fanfic of Owelpost's 'Glacial Fire.'


_**Author's Note: **So this is a first for me, fanfic of a fanfic. Owelpost has written an amazing story, 'Glacial Fire,' that is, like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. The one_ _**glaring **imperfection in her story is that her Liara clearly belongs with Traynor, not Shepard. This foolish little story was written to try and convince her to switch up her OTP. It failed, and now she's insisting that I let others see it. I agreed only because if enough of us get together, maybe together, we can be the change we want to see in the world. And by that I mean, if you like the idea of Traynor/Liara, go bother Owel about it until she does what I want!_

_Also, in case it wasn't clear, you might want to read Glacial Fire before you read this. I mean, you should be reading it anyways, but still..._

* * *

**BACKDRAFT**

* * *

**backdraft **

**_noun_  
**

**The explosive force that results from the introduction of oxygen into a confined area that is pressurized with super-heated, flammable gases**

* * *

The commander's anger burns more frequently and more intensely than anything Samantha has ever seen before. Even the time an experiment got away from Dr. Travers and half the lab exploded—which is really a feat when you're part of a team working on quantum entanglement, something that doesn't require any interaction with combustible chemicals—even that was tame compared to Shepard. The woman is a walking hazard. You look at the way her eyes smolder and know you should stay away.

If Shepard is fire, Samantha is a moth.

That's the only explanation that makes sense. She's never been one to be drawn to the bad girls. Some of her friends in university were that way, obsessing over girls—or boys—who had roguish smiles and wandering hands and loud motorbikes and always, always ended up taking a sweet girl who was comfortable with herself and turning her into something like a stained glass window: almost life-like, but fractured and irreparable.

She still gets into the elevator with Shepard. She lets the most dangerous woman in the galaxy press her against the wall and capture her hands and her mind. Who cares if this is a stupid decision? Who cares that Samantha is going to get herself _destroyed,_ not just hurt? She'll let Shepard do whatever she wants. She'll follow the ridiculous rules Shepard has created to keep herself from going too far, from trading the anger she wears like an extra layer of kinetic barriers for any sort of gentler emotion. She'll pretend that this is lust and not a crush. She'll pretend that she can let Shepard touch her without falling stupidly, stupidly in love.

Indoctrination must feel like this when it begins, with the lies you tell yourself to make the danger and inevitable ruin less terrifying. Samantha drops her head against the wall of the elevator in shame and surrender.

The commander's lips are on her neck, a real-life vampire pulling every vestige of Samantha's soul into herself.

Then everything stops.

It takes a moment or two for Samantha to realize that she's still alive, still herself. She's still trapped between Shepard and the wall, but everything has frozen for a moment.

Dr. T'Soni stands in the doorway of the elevator, her face as impassive as anything the communications specialist has ever seen.

Fire, meet ice.

Just like the interrupted villain in any outdated vid, Shepard makes a noise of frustration. The particularly addled parts of Samantha's mind interpret this grunt as a dramatic handwringing and a shout of "Curses! Foiled again!" but then the other woman steps away from her, and Dr. T'Soni stops blocking the doorway, and like any compromised virgin in a Gothic novel, Samantha seizes the opportunity to flee.

And because she's _not_ a virgin, no matter what she tells her parents, she glances back to stare at the shining white armor of her rescuer, in an attempt to understand why she's now _more_ turned on than she was when the Savior of the Citadel had a hand underneath her shirt.

**…**

She's lying awake for the third night in a row alternating between thinking about Dr. T'Soni and wondering why in God's name she keeps thinking about Dr. T'Soni. Samantha's never been into aliens, not even incredibly sexy, very intelligent, human-female shaped ones. Not to mention that she's had an absolutely _horrible_ crush on Commander Shepard since long before she met the woman; ever since she'd seen the pictures of the lone Akuze survivor and something in her had roared awake wanting to soothe the hurt and fear that were haunting those startling beautiful green eyes.

Isn't it typical that she works only a few feet away from an actual goddess of war, but Samantha finds herself obsessing over an asari.

Although Dr. T'Soni isn't just any asari. She's… there aren't words for it. She's like an iceberg, or she would be if it was a volcano that's hidden beneath the tip of an iceberg and not just more ice. There's so much warmth there, her eyes, her smile, her angry bravery….

With a groan, Samantha rolls over and pulls her pillow over her head. One of the other crewmembers, someone who must be an unreasonably light sleeper, makes a disapproving noise at her inconsiderate sounds and movements. It's tempting to tell them to mind their own business, but then they might ask what's keeping her up, and given the extent of her sleep deprivation and how utterly confused she feels right now, she just might tell them, and then she'd have Dr. T'Soni trying to kill her for her impudence instead of rescuing her from Shepard.

She'd rather enjoyed being rescued.

Abruptly, she's thinking of her parents, of when she had _that_ conversation with them. Her mother had cried, a little, and Samantha had watched unhappily, trying to decide whether she was more of a disappointment to her parents or if they were more of a disappointment to her, and then her mother had explained she was just upset that Alexander was apparently the only chance for grandchildren that she had. Samantha's little brother had glanced up at the mention of his name, blinking and grinning. He'd asked how many of the fit girls she'd brought home from university she had slept with. Papa had slapped Alexander on the back of the head for that. Alexander had looked crushed when Samantha told him that the reason none of her university friends had been interested in him was because he was a pimply teenager. Sexuality had nothing to do with it. Papa had slapped _her_ on the back of the head for that.

Later though, Papa and Samantha had gone for a walk together. He'd reassured her, in his own quiet way, that she was still loved.

Then he'd told a long and baffling story about a princess who mended the wing of a songbird that then demanded she follow it to the ends of the Earth before turning into a handsome prince and marrying the princess. She still isn't sure what the point of the story is. Something about true love? Another half-lecture on how wonderful the medical profession is? Sometimes, when there are no other puzzles, she thinks about that story and tries to solve it.

The way she lies awake trying to solve the puzzle of Dr. T'Soni.

**…**

The next time Shepard takes Dr. T'Soni on a ground mission, the asari is wounded very, very badly. Samantha had heard it all happen, had heard communication fall apart between the members of the ground team in a way it never had before. As she listened, some petty, self-important part of her had wondered if what was happening had anything to do with what she has come to think of as 'the horribly stupid thing you almost did in the elevator that you can never tell anyone about.'

She isn't sure how many times she walked the length of the crew deck, hoping Commander Shepard would disappear. Eventually though, she finds her courage and manages to stand next to the Spectre. They talk a little. Shepard apologizes for the elevator, and Samantha doesn't die of shock. Or embarrassment, for that matter.

Watching Shepard's face… there's guilt there. But not because of what she almost did to Samantha. Not for what Samantha almost let happen. Shepard stares at the door to the medbay with an expression that would probably be called fear if she were anyone else. She looks as though on the other side of that door is Judgment Day.

Samantha has known that Shepard isn't really religious, but for the first time she understands that if the woman really believed in good and evil and an afterlife she would have to acknowledge that what she does has consequences. And from the way she stares at the medbay door…Well, Shepard clearly doesn't self-evaluate very often.

Still, it's stunning to realize that the commander actually feels guilt. (It's stunning to see that she has feelings beyond 'I will kill you' and 'I will fuck you.') The woman cares about Dr. T'Soni. As much as she can care about anyone.

The thought depresses Samantha more than it should. Not because she's disappointed; a part of her has always known that she never really had a chance with Shepard. She isn't jealous either. She just… it's just sad. To think of what the wildfire that is Shepard will do to the asari. To think of how that ice-blue beauty will melt, consumed from within by those odd flashes of warmth and sacrificed to the demanding roar of Shepard's flames. How that cold strength will bleed away into something small and crumpled, like Samantha, or some other ordinary mortal.

It never occurs to her that Dr. T'Soni might be able to stand against Shepard's love. Or whatever it is. What chance does anyone have to resist if the disturbingly magnificent Commander Shepard wants you for herself?

**…**

She may have broken her mother's heart when she decided not to commit to medical school (and again when she declared that she had no intention of _marrying_ a doctor either—"But who will care for your parents in their old age, Samantha? You know Alexander has no interest in the sciences!"), but she knows enough to be certain that Dr. T'Soni should not be wandering the Presidium by herself so soon after being released from the medbay. In fact, it's doubtful that she should be out of the medbay at all.

Samantha wonders what it is about people who run around shooting things that makes them so adverse to sitting still and recovering from their injuries. God only knows that if _she _was shot, blown up, or beaten and half-devoured by husks, she would be spending all the time she could in the infirmary.

Not for the first time, the specialist wonders whether, despite her love of the work, despite her history of loyal service, she really doesn't _belong_ in the Alliance. She is rarely angry, she hates violence, and she's fairly certain that she really couldn't make any sort of sacrifice in the name of duty and the greater good. Leaving her Cision Pro Mark 4 behind on Earth was almost enough to break her spirit at the start of this war. She couldn't imagine being Commander Shepard and having to make decisions that could get people like Dr. T'Soni killed.

Or being Dr. T'Soni, and making decisions that could result in her own death, because trading her own life for Shepard's might mean the difference between defeating the Reapers and condemning all the spacefaring races to extinction.

Data though. Samantha can handle data. She knows that Shepard is straining to carry the weight of trillions of lives more or less on her own. Before Dr. T'Soni was injured, the commander always seemed to shoulder the burden with ease. While the asari lay on Dr. Chakwas' operating table though, Samantha had watched the first cracks appear in the supposedly invulnerable soldier. Those weaknesses have only grown these past few days. Even though Dr. T'Soni is once again ensconced in her own cabin, with nary a bandage or bloodstain in sight, Shepard has fallen further.

To defeat the Reapers, the Alliance needs Shepard. To defeat the Reapers, Shepard has to be sane. To stay sane, Shepard needs Dr. T'Soni.

Data is simple to understand.

Samantha follows the mysterious asari, keeping her distance, but ready to intervene if something goes wron—

She was never meant to be on the front lines, and apparently she'd also make a terrible spy. Dr. T'Soni pauses, glares directly at Traynor without actually seeing her, and summons a horrible-looking biotic glow.

"Oh!" She practically leaps out of her hiding place. "Wait! Please, don't—" The comm specialist is not much interested in dying.

The ominous flicker of cold light in the asari's hand is instantly quenched. "Sneaking up on a powerful biotic is very reckless, young lady."

Hands extended in front of her in a galactic sign of submission and surrender, Samantha steps into the light. She can't look at Dr. T'Soni, afraid of the disapproval that's undoubtedly etched onto her rescuer's face. "I didn't mean to—I—I am sorry for startling you, Dr. T'Soni. I, um, I wanted to speak with you, but I was… having second thoughts."

It isn't quite a lie. She's been meaning to talk to the doctor since that day in the elevator. Unfortunately, none of the books on proper manners her mother ever gave to Samantha covered what the appropriate course of action was when attempting to thank an asari for rescuing you from yourself. A thank-you note just didn't seem adequate. And she doesn't know if the doctor likes fruit baskets. Well, she does like Commander Shepard, so….

Oh! The asari is glaring at Samantha. Nicely, if there is a nice way to do something like that. Her face is neutral, but her eyes are burning. Not like Shepard's, not with rage, but with frustration and impatience.

The comm specialist blushes. She knows that she isn't stupid, but she always feels so incredibly thick whenever she's near Dr. T'Soni. Maybe after she's spent another few decades studying she won't feel so foolish. Provided that there are another few decades left for her to live. Of course, by then, Dr. T'Soni will have had at least a century of education, so really it's pointless….

"I am busy, Specialist. If you have something to say, I suggest you do so."

It really is unfair how the asari manages to look sexy no matter what she does. If only she was seven or so decades younger, and had light brown hair and pale pink skin, and had never met Shepard…

"_Quickly_, Specialist."

Her thoughts have gone off track again. "Shepard is failing!" she blurts. Yes. This is true. Samantha has observed it. Data. She reaches for it in the recesses of her mind, commands it, frames it, presents it to doubting Dr. T'Soni.

"You have been sequestered for some time, Dr. T'Soni, and before that you were unconscious. How the hell would you know? Jesus." She winces at the invective, instinctively glancing over her shoulder to make sure her mother—or someone who knows her mother well enough to tattle—isn't within earshot. She makes herself pretend that she knows her family is safe and that being scolded for swearing the next time she places a call home is a real possibility. She brushes a hand through her hair, trying to whisk away sad, selfish thoughts. Shepard. Dr. T'Soni. Saving the galaxy. These are the important things right now. "Look, forgive me for contradicting you, but I am telling you that there is something wrong with the commander."

Contempt looks good on the asari. "Shepard is likely the most selfish creature I have ever known, Samantha," she spits. "She would not let anything affect her so deeply as to interfere with her mission, let alone her wellbeing. I would advise you not to concern yourself with the commander."

Dr. T'Soni sounds so defeated. It's wrong, it feels wrong for the unbreakable asari to show cracks and breaks. Samantha has trouble breathing in the face of all that pain. She wonders what the doctor was like before she met Shepard. Maybe those flashes of warmth, of gentleness were more than flashes once. But then, that strength, that fierce protection of those weaker than her, those like Samantha, that was probably buried too.

She forces herself to meet that steady blue gaze, trying desperately not to betray what she's thinking. Trying not to let on that she has the audacity to feel pity for someone bold enough to stand up to Shepard. Someone so incredible that she can see Shepard as less than divine.

Without warning, the Dr. T'Soni that Samantha recognizes melts away into the quiet, sweet person the specialist had been imagining. It—she—terrifying. It's unbelievably terrifying to see something so terrible and beautiful become vulnerable and beautiful.

"There is no need to fear me, Specialist."

Heavens above, the asari really can read minds! "You make that very difficult, Dr. T'Soni."

Slim shoulders hidden by a clever imitation of a white lab coat dip slightly before pulling back tightly again, denying their own weakness. "Begin by calling me Liara."

Her thoughtlessly stupid honesty seems to have wounded her companion. Samantha feels like scum, that she could do anything to hurt someone so beautiful but so—she realizes it now—so broken. "Liara." It occurs to her that _Liara_ is like a stained glass window.

"Well, Liara… I should take my leave." She still hasn't said thank you. "I'm sorry to have bothered you." Maybe that's close enough. They seem to be conversing in double-speak anyway. Liara is intelligent. She'll understand.

She hasn't even gone seven steps when Dr.—Liara calls out after her. "Wait." She thanks Samantha for voicing her concerns. She takes a step or two to try and catch up to her.

Dr. T'Soni doubles over in pain, hand pressing to her side as though trying to keep herself from literally falling to pieces. "Doctor!" Oh God, the strongest person on the _Normandy_ is going to collapse, and Samantha is going to be the only witness, and Shepard is going to _kill _her for not saving the asari, and she's much too young to die, and she could probably kiss it better if Liara would let her, and _NO_, the doctor belongs to the commander, and, oh God….

"It's _Liara_," the asari growls, even as she clutches at Samantha for support. For a moment, she looks like anyone else in pain, but then she hides it all away, safe behind the icy perfection of her face.

Despite everything, Samantha wants to laugh. "For heaven's sake, _Liara_, does Dr. Chakwas know how much you are suffering?"

"I am well, Specialist."

"Oh, yes, I can see that." For someone supposedly eighty-odd years older than Samantha, Liara is being remarkably immature. "I suppose gasping in pain usually convinces people you are invincible?" It takes all of her willpower not to fall over when her acerbic words actually make Liara smile. "I won't speak of this again; just let me help you back to the ship."

It would be nice if Liara stopped staring at her. Samantha can't help wondering what is so wrong with her face that it demands such a particularly intense level of confused, almost disgusted scrutiny. She's almost used up her lifetime's stores of nonchalantism—that's not a word is it—and resorted to touching her nose to make sure it's still in place, and hasn't doubled in size, or turned into a turnip, or something, when the asari nods. Once. Decisively. "I—yes, I think I would appreciate that."

The sweet-smelling, blue-eyed alien leans heavily on Samantha as they make their way back to the _Normandy_. She stays silent, however, so the human says nothing, determined not to make a fool of herself.

Unfortunately, when they reach Liara's cabin, she just can't help herself.

"Dr. T'S—Liara," she amends when her reversion to the formal title earns her a withering glare. "I know I've already been, well, somewhat pushy about your needing to look after yourself," this time she receives a vaguely amused glare, "but the truth is, that I—um—well…." An impatient glare, now. Even though she knows that biotics can kill her just as well as bare hands, without that pesky need for direct physical contact, Samantha steps away from the asari. "You should, uh, be careful. With Shepard. As well. If I'm meant to be careful with the commander then it stands to reason that you should be too, even if you have known her for quite some time, and even if she does appear to be… fond isn't the right word, but I think she is. Fond of you. As fond as she can be. Which probably isn't saying much now that I say it out loud and actually think about it, but she—I—you—"

"Specialist?" Liara sounds weary, confused.

"Well, I owe you a thank you don't I? For rescuing me from her? And I'd hate to see you get hurt. And—" Before she can think about what she's doing (because thinking and not doing are basically the same thing), Samantha is leaning in and pressing her lips to Dr. T'Son—pressing her lips to Liara's. A closed-mouth kiss. Like they're both gradeschoolers.

The door to the cabin hisses open. The sound rings in her ears with the terrible force of an alarm clock, ripping her from this odd, suddenly pleasant dream. With the sudden return of her rationality, Samantha practically throws herself into the room. It's so bright: lights and monitors and displays and work, work, work. Liara does nothing but work.

Samantha turns off far too many of the lights. She tells Liara she needs to sleep. To rest, if only for a little while. Everything depends on Shepard, and Shepard, it would seem, depends on this asari.

She is almost safe, almost gone, almost out the door. Liara grabs her hand.

"Wait."

She waits.

"Don't go."

She doesn't go.

"Tell me what that was."

She can't answer if she doesn't know the answer herself.

The asari studies Samantha with an expression of curiosity on her face that is almost gentle.

"She needs you," Samantha manages to whisper.

"That isn't an answer."

"I'm aware of that."

Liara tugs Samantha close. She runs her free hand along the curve of Samantha's cheek. She brushes her little finger through the loose strands of Samantha's hair.

"We need her," Samantha swallows, knowing she sounds hoarse. "We need Shepard if we mean to win this war."

"I'm aware of that," the asari says. Teasingly. Oh, God. "Would you have me save the savior?"

"You're the savior," Samantha manages to whisper. "I—but I'd rather you keep yourself safe, if I'm being honest. And why not? Apparently I'm hallucinating anyways."

"You are not hallucinating, Samantha." Liara's smile is convincing, even if her words aren't. Samantha knows she could never imagine something as beautiful as that smile. "You are a sweet child."

Before she can protest that she isn't a child at all, and it's rather condescending to make comparisons when Liara is going to live for a millennium anyways, her lips are pressed against the asari's again. An open-mouthed kiss. One not initiated by Samantha.

"But… Shepard…" she breathes, managing to hold on to reality for a last, horrible moment.

"I will save her," the asari promises. "But I prefer your thank yous."

It's hours later and much too soon when Samantha leaves Liara's cabin. When she thinks of the sacrifices that will have to be made to ensure that Commander Shepard can protect the galaxy, the happy glow in her chest fades into something colder and more manageable.


End file.
